


What Is Real, Cannot Be Imagined

by gDeIpVhIrNoEtt



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Color Blindness, M/M, Music, Physical Disability, Reincarnation, Singing, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5428019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gDeIpVhIrNoEtt/pseuds/gDeIpVhIrNoEtt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That would be red, Jaejoong. How you’re feeling right now. Blood boiling in your veins. Or, if you’d like, so frozen that it cracks. Anger. Or passion. Intensity. I know it’s not your favorite color - but if you were a color, you would be red. Somehow.” Jaejoong regifts Yunho their past life's memories, Yunho teaches Jaejoong what color is and means and feels. Future Reincarnation AU, Colorblind-Music Therapist!Jae and AntiqueDealer!Yunho. Yunjae fluff and angst, not much scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Is Real, Cannot Be Imagined

**Author's Note:**

> *PLEASE READ BEFORE PROCEEDING.*
> 
> (This is Part 1. I think this fic will have 3 parts.)  
> First of all, thank you very much for dropping my fic a view. This is my first YunJae fanfic ever, and probably the craziest and most daring fanfic I will ever write. I guess I went really crazy about 4-Ding Jaejoong here. The writing style and sequence of events may be too detailed and dragging for fanfiction and I'd even say I wrote this fanfic as if it was an original novel. But oh well. 
> 
> Any comment or feedback would be really appreciated. Any view or kudos or anything really makes my day. 
> 
> If it's a bit too confusing, Jay is reborn almost about a century from now as a 23-year-old genius Music therapist who's just retired due to his finger disability. Thing is that he's colorblind and he is plagued by memories of his DB5K life and his unfulfilled relationship with Yunho. In this fic, Jay will be meeting Yunho, who doesn't have any recollections or idea of who Jaejoong even is. But he instantly clicks with Jay and agrees to teach him about colors. 
> 
> However, is this really all they have between each other? Or is Yunho hiding something? 
> 
> This fic is set in Barrow, Alaska. 
> 
> I hope this fic makes enough sense for you to enjoy. Even if it's just a bit. 
> 
> Sincerely,  
> gdeiph

_You’d think that for your last working day, the heavens would demand harsh fates to give you a break for once. in celebration…or congratulations, at least. the sad kind, you know? specifically the god in charge of giving and taking away colors._

_How easy would it be for a god to rob the world of the gazillion color shades that presumably exist? But isn’t that too sadistic?_

_Am I in power here, because even so I hold my head up high?_

_Or am I in mercy?_

_I do believe my theory is true to some point._

Jay sighs. mixed feelings whisk up a charming potpourri in his stomach –  _I wonder if it would actually be edible, but isn’t it practically eating yourself_ –

“What’s the point in me living?” Jay’s last appointment in practically his whole career of music therapy is nothing out of the blue –  _though I have no idea what blue looks like and I’d love to find out so I can fully understand that expression_ \- an apathetic teenage girl. hunched shoulders, eyes downcast –  _trying to determine if the hell below is better than this world_ , Jay silently adds to himself - listless fingers, lips set to a default frown but eyes aren’t too panda-ish. It’s a mosaic of lonely emotions Jay is anything but new to.

A song pesters his head, the annoying-friend kind.  _If the world is way too black, let’s bleach it out with white. Don’t you worry, I’m a bucket of light –_ he thinks twice before saying it out loud. thrice, because the scales against it are high – the sentences were too awfully-phrased.  
Four times, because it’s his last day  _and I’m still expecting the universe to go easy on me but oh boy._

_Nah, she might punch me._

_On second thought it might be a good idea though_ , he backs up the will with an experimental lip-lick.  _If she becomes so mad she blows up and punches me, it’s way better than being listless like this._

“Look at my face, will you, love?” Jay tries instead. even when the girl carves “ _I don’t give a shit about your face_ ” on the air with laser beams, Jay continues. “It’s really pretty, isn’t it? I’ve won so many beauty contests when I was younger. Even now, people think I’m a model, you know? Come on. I know you’re looking for that one thing worth looking at in your life.”

A punch on the chair arm. It bolts through the silence, a beautiful primal bass.  _Bass…_

_Humans do make the most stunning music with their bodies, huh._

“It’s really worth a look, love. A million looks, actually. If you’d live for something, let it be my face, eh?”

Small, cozy fireworks with triumphant music boom through Jay’s room when the girl angrily grumbles, “You sound gay. And no, my comment wasn’t meant to be hilarious, mister. If your face isn’t worth it at all?”

“Ah,” Jay grins. pride and success add extra glitters that the girl refused to see.  _Making progress, though._ “As a reward, I’ll let you stare at my face for longer. Sounds good?”

 

The rest of the day is fairly, well,  _fair_ – Geunsuk painting Jay’s face in cupcake icing with figures too realistic for their own good, Heech sending him a balloon e-card with a fairly hilarious joke, what little remained of the staff bombarding him with wellwishes so warm the world becomes fuzzy, sad faces with “ _We will miss you but we understand that you want to move on_ ” lacquered with smiles and genuine onslaughts of “ _Keep us updated, we’re sure you’ll continue to be awesome at everything_ ”.

_But am I really moving on? If the plotline of my life is inverted though, and stopping yourself or regressing is the method to move forward…well, it would make some sense._

_Optimistic Jay, let’s put you on break for a while, eh?_

_Realistic Jay, it’s your cue!_

_To hell with bipolarness. Labelling is one thing that will never ever exist in my universe._

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

_My last day delivering music to heal eh? Well, at least officially._

But everything is shipshape; the world is as normal as it could get. Thing is, there’s nothing more heartwrenching than that. Jay knows that “shipshape” comes to be synonymous to “ _barren_ ". Be it elusive flickers or hearty flames of the things others call  _color_ , his proud imagination can’t generate the exact hue that matches with the cashier counter’s sheer texture. or even any shade related to his calloused guitarist hands.   
_Any blotch. Any small dot will do._ Jay’s imagination and ingenuity is Barrow-famous,  _but  
imagination can’t generate something that doesn’t exist inside you in the first place._

_Philosopher Jay, entrez!_

_I harshly disagreed at first. Why not?_

_What if your creation was even beyond the scope of your imagination?_

Now, he doesn’t side much with that philosophy anymore. There’s something smarmy about pushing away his thoughts  _but what can I do?_

Sugar-coat the words. lacquer it with gaiety…turn it over to something like “persevering inquisitiveness” (he’s also Barrow-famous for his opulent vocabulary). yet it’s all  _hopeless._ He sees the entire world; he’s not blind. Yet he sees so little of it.

He pays for the lovely bundled orchids, but as plush and as downy as their petals are against his rasping fingers, there’s not much of even a clue. Maybe he waits for the person behind him to comment on them. or the cashier to say something like, “I didn’t know purple orchids looked better than white ones! More character to them.”

It doesn’t happen. The register just jangles, telling him that it’s time to move on.   
These are the kinds of interactions – expeditions Jay looks forward to every day, scratch that it’s the saddest and the most disappointing.  _Show me the world, please show me even just a glimpse of anything as others see it._

When he steps out of the grocery and into the desolate whiteness of Barrow snow-streets, the all-encompassing anemic picture bleeds to his heart. bars the valves, pricks needles in every cell.  
 It’s  _terrifying_ , it’s  _disgusting_. and even though it’s basically colorless, this absence of mockery consoled him little. frightened him more with pangs so unexplainable.

 _Would you rather be completely blind, then?_  a lot of his friends, countless passersby in his life asked, ask, and will continue to ask.

Jay prides himself on being optimistic, honestly.  _No. Life is broader than that_ , he’d say with different expressions depending on who asks. with a smile for some, or a raised brow…or often even pokerface. Pokerface was the hardest, though. He’d play it along with his beatific voice, conveying a completely different sentiment when the words are delivered an octave higher.

Barrow’s Thirty Days of Night has begun – it wasn’t as cold and as….distressing subzero as it was when he was a child (he thanks Global Warming with a cheeky smile to himself), but it was still…. _COLD._

 _I’ll tell you one of my deepest secrets, myself_ , Jay fingers the orchid petals as if he’s strumming his good ol’ guitar.

_I really believe that there’s an alien that will change the whole world for me. And you know, not just let me see the world in color. Something less superficial than that, and something even more superficial than that._

_Or maybe that alien is just me. Who knows?_

Feeling tweedy, which honestly translated to “can’t decide whether to lean more on sad or happy”, Jay drops two orchids – pure and brazen against the snow that couldn’t grow anything, their unadulterated shape something too close to inspirational. fearless.  _Something so gentle, yet something so awe-striking._

_There’s beauty in emptiness when you subtract just a tiny bit from it._

He keeps the other five. twirls them about and even kisses their petals for short-lived, teasing moments - as if to store and nurture saccharine sentiments that will embrace its receiver later on. They’re white (so he can see most of its “true form”, as he calls it) and smell like roses and baby powder.

_I don’t really know why I buy flowers. Or if I really feel like I’m buying them for someone._

_If that revolutionary alien isn’t me, then…who is it?_

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

“Oh, come onnn, Heech,” Jay heartily yells over Skype, “You know we’re a little more than halfway through the 21st century. It’s not all desolate here.”  _but still, still, still, still, everything is empty._

Heech’s (his Korean partner in composition) “statuesque” face is making all sorts of sublime faces. and by sublime, he means quality enough to give Jay comedic nightmares. He says so to his friend, but adds “This is what I love about you.”

“Aish, so romantic. Have you decided yet whether you’re into girls or guys? Or maybe trees?”

When Jay doesn’t answer, Heech settles his facemask. takes his time, even humming a few bars at the process.

It’s a lonely laugh that naturally looms to side-to-side rockings and juddering of hands that would love to be held still by  _anyone._ kissed to schmaltzy warmth.  _guy or girl. tree. alien. I don’t care; anyone would be good right now._ So he fake-punches the screen and lifts his head, changes to Diva Jay at the blink of an eye.  _  
_ Of course, Heech doesn’t fall for that Trojan-Horse laugh, even if he’s busy with his facemask at the moment.

“Why are you there in Barrow, anyway? This is the first time in fifteen years you’ve decided to stay there for the godforsaken winter. You’re a sun person, man.”

Straightening his spine and reaching to the stand for his guitar, he yells over messy dissonant chords and moody bars of strumming. pretends to sing an emotional 80s-90s Korean ballad but he knows his voice is shallow. nothing in his current being is actually into it. his emotions are even more artificial and  _this is nothing like me._

“Heech, this is the true voice of…..heartache, bland. Forced. Fake.” he says with more laughter. it’s not necessarily disparaging, it’s not wrathful,  _it’s just rather….barren like the Barrow winter._

_Maybe invisible aliens are draining my emotions. Hmm, possible. But I’m sure my blood wouldn’t be accepted by their system._

Heech infuriatedly ripping off his facemask syncs with Jay’s fist as it disenchantedly beats on the floor. When Heech hollers out, “Hey, you rascal” shadowed out Jay’s hitching breaths.

And still, Heech’s eyes critically state “I didn’t miss that, Jay.” So Jay sighs.  _Such an effing mindreader._

 “Tell me the truth, you rascal,” he points a nuclear-bomb-charged finger from the screen, but Jay knows that if they were face-to-face he would’ve already been punched amiably.

“I don’t really know,” the lie is cloyed, made less of a lie by Jay’s magic I-don’t-understand-the-world sigh. He loves it dearly; it’s an emergency spaceship he can get on to get away with  _everything._

_Only I know that “Everything” is mislaying its scope. I’m at the limit._

_I am closer to being blank._

_Music is blank._

_Heart is blank._

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Only half-awake, his fingers over the guitar strings angle closer to scrapes on string. grungy grips on its spine, sporadic with creaks of his heart that’s way too loud and thorny even if he’s left his Beatles playlist on. All alone in his cabin, his wake is metallic. fear he waves off as irrational clogs his brain from processing melody bars. distended his heart into a mute thing he didn’t like.

_Give me a song. Even just a bar…a few notes.._

The temperature outside’s galaxies to the left of zero on a standard number line, Jay ditches his double-fur-wool gloves and lopsidedly pulls on his parka,  _I don’t care, I know there’s something out there who’s waiting for me_

_Perhaps_

_Someone_

_Let it be him_

_Please let it be him_

A 20 mi/h wind howls at him, frightening ivory claws knocking him down to his feet. feral curses, telling him as harshly as possible to go the fuck back in, chafes through his helpless fingers, which are already turning into that “strange” color (the doctor said bluish-white).    
_and you’re still not here. Where are you?_

 _What’s the point in me living_ , the girl’s voice is, in truth, a showy curtain of a reality-check. one that smacks him in the face, brutal as Thor’s hammer, maybe. Sure, it was lonely and truly heartbreaking to hear.  _But I can think this thought now freely. It’s lonely because it’s truthful._

_Why do we have to live? Is earth really where we should be right now?_

_Is earth where we’re going to meet again, Yunho?_

_I wonder how many galaxies we’ve already met in before this._

_Maybe our memories choose to self-destruct when they decide our bond is getting too strong. Do memories have a storage capacity like computers do? I strongly think so.  Ah, that’s the only explanation… then we can start all over again, from zero._

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Morning didn’t mean white. It’s the second day of Barrow’s lightless winter, but the acupuncture-hospital house still functions regularly, scratch two hours earlier closing time.

“Don’t forget to check with the doctor, Jay,” Jeanne’s concerned voice cheers him up a bit, but  _there’s nothing anyone can do to take my mind back to earth._ “Your fingers look the worst ever since I’ve seen them. You gotta…help them, you know. I’d cry if you have to  _really_ stop playing to us.”

There’s something granulose about his voice. Jeanne believes his “sore throat” excuse, and gives him warm ginger tea as another bonus. “Fell down the snow last night,” he mumbles as softly as possible so it would be less concentrated with those hoarse, jagged frequencies.

As Jeanne is working her medical magic on Jay’s hands, fingers, and toes, murmurs and croons of delight flute Jay’s throat. curls his lips in delight even if his eye muscles ache, struggling to contain the dam of his tears,

_And even I don’t know why I’m so depressed. As if that’s not strange enough. It’s not like aliens are being mean to me or anything._

When his snow machine treks down his house’s road, it’s already 7pm.  _That treatment took more time than I expected. But oh well, no two days should ever be the same._

He doesn’t know if he’s possessed or if he’s doing it because he wants to. The balance scale in his mind is out-of-service and refuses to help him decide. heart topples down, fingers’ grip wane in domino motion.

_I’m here, outside. I’m waiting for you._

_But who are you?_

_Who is the you that I’m looking for in this godforsaken futility?_

It’s not just ten minutes but he stays frozen for twelve more added to that.  _My heart is incomplete. My brain is clogged, though not in the medical-emergency sense._

 _My heart is incomplete_ , lips that levered to that strange disease’s color ages ago start uttering the words absent-mindedly.

_My heart is incomplete, my heart is not beating._

_My heart is not beating without you who will the pain rescind._

And mindless as a robot, he comes inside. breathing ridged at the best if it could still count as breathing (Jay doesn’t really care). In the subzero hell outside, he felt  _ALIVE_. ironic, sarcasm-injected heart hid his ecstasy under a contraband bloodflow holding nothing but denial.

 _Yet the doves I sent to scout for you,_  
oh so desperately,   
aren’t alive anymore as I’m breathing now  
will be alive only if you can say they’re kissing my future corpse   
and spreading their wingtips to align with my lips, still copious even in rain

His short composition’s jotted down. ink ruts the crepe paper, because  _my fingers are still shaking, my fingers are slowly dying, and that’s what the doctor told me even if I pretend 24-7 that it’s a diagnosis at its most dubious. Because why not?_

_Who is the world to tell me what I can’t do?_

YouTube starts up in less than a split-second.  ** _Taxi – Tohoshinki, The Secret Code Live at Tokyo Dome_**

The song was performed in 2009, which is like almost a century ago, but he loves it. He loves the other songs this group performs, because he was part of it in his past fate. A humble reason for the most precious truth.

They were singers refulgent with hard-earned dreams, sweat and tears zephyrs between all five hands clasped together as they do 90-degree bows to the audience every single time.

They were singers refulgent with hard-earned dreams, and not dolled-up with glittering jackets or unctuous paraphernalia for the sake of it.

They were singers refulgent with hard-earned dreams. The truth never need be sugar-coated. no fancy words, no fluttering eyelashes ever allowed: pearl red (Jay does remember their official fandom color even if he didn’t know what it really looked like) was pearl red and white shirts were white shirts worn with plain jeans.

_And this is how we conquered the world of music. Or well, Korean pop. And Japanese pop._

Key word: past life.

_Come to think of it, the only Alaskan belief I agreed with was reincarnation. I’m glad I wasn’t reborn as a seal or a walrus, though._

Current Song: TAXI, Tohoshinki.

It’s the rainy song. not quite a storm, but not a drizzle either.   
Jay smiles at the feeling of derelict, grieving raindrops rocketing down an unforgiving pavement. emotions, confessions begging to be acknowledged, only to be crushed against impassive earth like they were nothing in the first place.

_I still do remember what our songs were about._

And then  ** _his_**  voice comes,  _sanguine-perfect from your almond lips, the soothing moon-shape of your face the most comforting sight_

**_Shivering through lightless morns,_  
** cutting through the daze  
I can’t really say I’m fine -   
ink just runs down silken shades 

****

Jay’s afflicted fingers turn back to their normal shade. The angel’s name is Yunho when they were idols.

  _I know you’re there…and I know I will see you soon. I just don’t know when._

They’re the lines just before the second ghost-chorus verse. The Japanese is already ingrained in his brain and heart like it’s a stored-away ancient scroll he can always open when he wants.  _Thing is, they’re all unchangeable._

_I still don’t know how I feel about that. Nope, can’t decide._

Yunho also sings the closing lines. It’s the saddest, Jay has always believed. how Yunho intentionally makes his voice wane is actually one of the saddest phrases of music he’s ever heard:   
lone lover drenched in rain, but as the cold and the one-sidedness of his fate overtakes the plane, he’s in his happiest place.   
Out of curiosity, the thought of the setting turned over to Barrow, Alaska sneaks to Jay’s thoughts. it’s the mischievous kind of curiosity.

 _You’d trade every ounce of your passionate love for one minute in the sauna_ , Jay tries to telepathically contact the lover in TAXI.

Huddled in his fortress of a comforter, Jay closes his eyes. sings the part again and again and again and again as if it’s a catalytic magic spell. or a portal between galaxies that can link their cores together in the form of a faultless telephone line. Like that, he keeps singing. sighs for time-outs when he tires of it momentarily, except he knows that he actually doesn’t.  _I’m fucking obsessed._

 

****_‘Cause I cannot turn away_  
just can’t shimmer out of your gray eyes  
Passion’s stuck in coldest nights 

****

The last brogues of consciousness are taken up by this half-harsh realization: these closing lines don’t go with his voice at all. _Let’s be honest now._

In frustration this time, he bolts out the door.

  _12:51am._

_Is this the right time for you? For me? Is 3 the right number? 3 rd your favored ordinal? I think you count backwards, that’s why we’re not reaching each other._

Catch-22 snares Jay with military willpower.  _I guess this doesn’t quite go with me…even if I do like doing this crazy nonsense. Oh, I must be going crazy, Heech is right.  
_ Disappointedly (the wretchedness in there is growing like unwanted flowers), there’s nothing prophetic about the wind. nothing special. Nothing worth goddamn freezing over for.

_But you are. You are. A million times over._

A little more than ten minutes pass again. When Jay finally gathers the guzzlers that 3isn’t the right number nor 3rd the favored ordinal, the tear-puddles in his eyes are already frozen. if not, austerely clawed away and stolen by the ruthless wind. that tormenting hue colors his fingers and toes and nose again as if he’s a human canvas experimented on for viewers’ entertainment.

_Quite a romanticist you are, Jay. You have Raynaud’s Phenomena, not some celestial shit._

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

An idea he deemed worthy hits him first thing in the morning:  _I should make some kind of offering._

He takes a selfie in the snow, hides his hurt. his despair, his disappointment, his diminishing hope.  _Can you see me? Can you see how hurt I am?_

_Maybe if I make you envious of the snow…or my phone…which I’m paying more attention to, you’ll appear!_

The ploy was 50% joke and 50% hilarity, so Jay comes inside for breakfast laughing. head thrown back, hands slapping parka-covered upper thighs energetically. It’s not long before he posts it online and Heech doesn’t stop with Skype calls until Jay finally relents and answers.

“ _I don’t know why I stayed, but I knew and know that there’s something to stay for_ , huh,” Heech’s voice is raised in curiosity and amiable admonishment. “Ambiguous, deep, and romantic. It’s your style. Let me guess…you’re waiting for a tree to court you. In this winter, there aren’t any green trees there, no? And you’re already writing poems.”

Jay laughs it off as usual. honestly, he wants to admit and declare that he’s getting bored of it. to himself, most of all. “I know this is a losing request, Heech, but I earnestly ask you NOT to use that as a story inspiration. Or drabble. Or chapter.”

“Oho. Then that means it’s true, and it’s meaningful to you.”

“F off.” Jay sings an F natural to cushion the half-insult. After all, he loves Heech. “Or do you prefer F sharp, man?”

Scurrying over, Heech disappears for a while. he comes back with a pristine-white sheet of paper and a pencil.  _His favorite brainstorming tools. Oh, hell._ His face is revamped with that mischievous, up-to-no-good-cause-I’ll-be-writing-about-you-in-this-chapter-and-no-one-will-know-except-us smirk.

“Tell me about it, Jay,” leaning forward, Heech is licking his lips in anticipation.

 _As if I’ll tell you_ , Jay whispers under his breath,  _I have freedom of expression and freedom of thought to hold the opinion that I think you’re being disgusting right now._

“Quite a long sentence you’re muttering to yourself,” the writer’s already jotting down notes: pen eager, blank paper eager to be filled, but hands and mind the most eager out of everything.

“Remember that Korean poem you were obsessed with almost a year back? Searching, searching, searching…”

“In Your Eyes? Mm-hmm. I never forget anything, man,” Heech is flicking his collarbone-length hair.  _Haha, I came up with that length measurement. It’s quite unique._

Jay tries to imagine his sigh will condense into a puffy, puffy cloud.  _Because, why not?_ He feels curiously light after. light enough to float away. in 200% congruence with the universe, so that tracing Yunho’s current whereabouts would be unproblematic as thinking.  _I wish._

  _Is it the sea? Is he a mermaid this time? Or a snow angel? Or…a fish…_

“If you can’t find what you’re looking for, then just imagine him there beside you,” it doesn’t sound enough of a fairytale joke from Heech.   _Oh, with this guy you’ll never ever know._

“Exceptions exist for two things, Heech. Either to prove the rule, or to null it.”

His buddy’s furrowed brow is a rare sight. so rare that in this event, it coincidentally proclaims the beginning of the blizzard outside, almost.  _Just how musical is his timing?_

“In layman’s terms, your principle is dreadful now,” he can’t help but smirk at the sense of victory spiked in his own voice. so saturated with buzz, every single cell from one lip corner to the other.  _Nice shot._

“And why is that?” Heech’s usual erratic shuffling has stopped by now. everything is motionless, still: Jay not contesting whether to leap or stay, but rather already waiting for the beautiful impetus.  _prepossession_.  _Just tell me when’s my cue._  
_I’ll tell you:  
_ “I can’t imagine him, because he’s real,” unexpectedly, Jay’s heart drops at his conclusion.  falters out-of-script.

_No, no….but the show must continue….this is my performance!_

“ _I don’t want the luxurious, cliché rose-petals-bed feeling_ ,” Heech’s interruption is scathing, “So you want to say _, I want the real deal. The moment’s reality. Fire. Sweat. Heart racing_.”

The bars for music in the air are empty. desperate to be filled, interrupted impromptu sustained.

“You do know that…you’re going for the Sad Edition.”

“Who knows?” Jay clicks his tongue, subsequent shoulder-shrug almost expectant. “It might be a nice melodrama blended with some hilarious breakouts. You never know what’s going to happen in a world like ours.”

“Especially with a bunny monster like you,” they both burst into laughter, the kind that left them with ghost six-packs and aching cheeks.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

11:43pm that same second night of Barrow’s 30 Days of Dark: indignant willpower. aggressive demands that could bury his hurt under a carpet put on offensive. Northern Geranium’s symbolism of “steadfast piety”, nevermind that it’s disguised.

This is the fifth attempt, and he’s set on making it  _The Boss Victory_  and not  _Just Another Attempt._

Jay is punching the air repeatedly, hunger-striker’s gripe sign in hand, scratch that it’s invisible. You couldn’t burst the bubble of  _imaginaire_  hardcore.  _You’ll see soon, this is as attention-grabbing as a neon advert!_

It’s not really because of the fact that the wind is howling too furiously for anyone to hear him anyway. it’s because he doesn’t effing  _care_  if the world brands him a lunatic.   
_I won’t go to jail for screaming from the top of my lungs in godforsaken Barrow snow. Maybe arrest the uncontrollable, sidereal forces that made the climate this godforsaken: that would be a contribution to humanity._

“ _I CAN’T IMAGINE YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE REAL!!!_ ”   
no echoes, because the frequencies barely even make it to the nearby cable line about ten steps away from him.  _even better_. Snow wind is speaking over his concession. spitting on his freedom of speech like some arrogant overlord who thinks he owns the world, hahaha. Anyhow, he breathes hard for the next five seconds, then

“ _I CAN’T IMAGINE YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE REAL!!!_ ”

“ _I CAN’T IMAGINE YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE REAL!!!_ ”

“ _I CAN’T IMAGINE YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE REAL!!!_ ”

“ _I CAN’T IMAGINE YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE REAL!!!_ ”

“ _I CAN’T IMAGINE YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE REAL!!!_ ”

He barely manages to scoop up a breath before he faints: face down on the snow that didn’t really give any fucks. So what if he spilled his entire soul out, vomited it?

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 

**_barami buneun gose geu eodieseodo mannal su itgetji  
ara nae mameul aljyo neol wonhago itjyo_ **

****

Guitar, piano. gentlest chimes inlaying hum-beats into the frequencies of Yunho’s voice. And  _oh my world, this undiminished wind that blows the tears out of my eyes themselves._

the soft turn of keys undoing beautifully-crafted locks, promising protection given by fluffy pillows from thorny barbwire. butterfly-kisses on the pale expanse of Jay’s neck, while Yunho absentmindedly drums his fingers nearby.

_It’s you, isn’t it?_

_You’re finally here, beside me._

The door’s ajar and something’s amiss, as if the person who carried his unconscious body inside’s unable to close a doorknob. or doesn’t have hands to. or fingers. Said person didn’t kick the door closed, so that means he’s outside, he’s already left. impossible in.

And the sleet isn’t ripping in through the open door, that’s what’s  _really_ amiss.   
  _Is it an alien? No, Jay. Be realistic._

_Well, there’s one way to know!_

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 

**I’ve read a lot of wind legends. Myths. desperate  
** authors submitting their lackluster works as   
some unknown or newly-discovered legend or myth  
not for the prestige of it, but for the utter stupidity of it. 

**Having no intentions to make this entry of mine tonight one,  
** or anytime soon (please don’t chase me with the copyrights  
and clarification for symbolism or confusing parts when I’m dead)   
I just offer mine as it is.   
Think of it as another lackluster paragraph, or a story that’s quite   
entertaining enough, or an inspiration for your next love song,  
or your next proof on how humans can make no sense  
and still write art, (I know that I’m too conceited for my own good)  
I don’t mind. 

_Note to self: do not apply nitroglycerin cream, or any other cream anyway, on your hands before you type. And remember this piece of common sense, you idiot._

_Really, I must be going crazy_.

Runny finger bases stick to each key momentarily but Jay couldn’t care less. maybe this is a blessing-in-disguise way for him to pass the story onto his laptop -keys- as well.

_Can keys report? If the alien assassinates me and I don’t get a chance to finish this, will the keys continue it, I wonder?_

**A crazy man decides to date the Wind Element.  
** And when I say that, it’s not the type that goes like  
dating girls who have air or cloud (I associate clouds  
more with wind than water) patterns in their dresses  
or hats. Or hitting on your best friend when you see  
how breathtaking it is to see his short hair being   
caressed by the wind. Not intended to sound gay.  
This man is so crazy that he thinks there will be a  
wind fairy that will appear to him in Barrow’s snow.  
A special, omnipotent wind fairy amongst the winter  
winds that don’t go slower than 10 mi/hr.   
  


He fights the urge to crash his head onto the keys and abort mission.  _Focus. You can do this, Jay. Get this out of your system. And anyway, it’s not like people will believe this absurd story._

_It’s not absurd. It just happened to you about twenty minutes ago. Ten of which you spent pacing and pacing and pacing and walking in figure-eights like some demented clown._

_Shut up and just type._

**So let me tell you what he did. In subzero Barrow snow,  
** he stands like some retarded statue and literally just waits.  
Thinks of wind fairies, hoping they would attract the   
said wind fairy. And what wish did he want to be granted?  
To see colors, because he’s colorblind. And how absurd is  
that? How childish, how cliché, and how unrelated to wind? 

**He does this four times. 5 happened to be the magic number,  
** but he fainted (due to cold, what else?) as the wind fairy  
was starting to manifest to him. This is turning out to be a comedy.  
He wakes up in his house. The door is ajar, suggesting that the  
one who saved him and took care of him is outside. 

**And it all begins when he goes outside.  
** The wind fairy is a spirit who talks to him.   
The crazy man and the wind fairy fall in love. 

Huge gulp of air, a longer sigh. Jay clicks “Submit Entry”. After fifteen minutes, his email explodes with a million notifications he’s sure he doesn’t want to entertain anytime soon. or even think about, in the first place.  _I’m really going crazy._

Three..  
Two…..  
One…….

And Heech is ringing him from Skype.

“What the fuck, man?” Heech isn’t furious or flabbergasted. It’s the obsequious voice he uses when he’s read something that qualifies as mind-blowing to him.

Jay laughs for the millionth time in his lifetime.  _If humans are evolving, then so should laughter. The current model is outdated. We desperately need an innovation._

“That was great….mindblowing….but…did it happen to you?!! I’m starting to worry about your sanity! And your safety. But your sanity, more importantly!”

“Nothing to worry about, it was just a thrilling dream,” he lies a lie that’s already been rutted to perfection again and again in his head.  _Denial. Yes, just keep denying it. Denial is key._

“I’d kill you for the concept,” Critique and Literary God Heech’s puppy-eyes and pout are hilarious.   _I’d enjoy that face of yours more when I get back in touch with Earth. I’m at JayWind Universe at the moment, having a dubious cruise._

“Don’t kill aliens,” Jay answers as fast as humanely possible, “I care nothing for the concept now. You can have it, honey. Waltz with it, make out with it, I don’t care. It’s 1:18 AM here. I’m on the other end of the globe, remember? I need  to sleep. Love ya.”

Except he doesn’t. he doesn’t sleep.

_I don’t want to sleep; I can’t sleep, anyway._

_So I open the door._

_The door that leads to you._

_A wind too gentle, a wind that isn’t theoretically capable of existing here in Barrow._

“Don’t worry,” Yunho’s voice is not at all different from what Jay remembers.  _from what I’ve heard. and most delightfully, from what I’ve held close to my heart and sung in my head with all these years of waiting for you._

“You’re not going crazy, Jaejoong-ah. I have quite a dubious existence and unbelievable form to top your fits, in the first place,” Yunho  laughs. it’s a charming laugh that pulls tender, unseen heartstrings. a laugh you’d never ever expect to be doing the pulling, actually.  _You haven’t changed, transforming scary things to wonderful ones._  
 Again, Jay tries to follow the invisible trail that leads his lips to Yunho’s fingetips. his beautiful hands that hold the other end of this Red String of Fate. maybe Jay expects Starry Cassiope blooming downy and soft on his palms.

_Your palms that cradle the world._

“Maybe your palms can grow those flowers. Starry Cassiope. They’re not my favorite…but I sure do love them,”  _the way their bell-like shape physicalizes your ever-shimmering voice. your voice that softly worships the universe so beautifully, so devoutly._

“Ah, I know,” the knowing lark in Yunho’s voice is tangible. Jay reaches out mid-air again, but his palm closes, unsteady when Yunho says, “You associate me with red and white. But…what’s your favorite flower, then?”

“Yunho,” Jay’s jarred voice silences the man’s lark to the lip. the visualization is already in Jay’s head, perfect and lonely and regretful. “I can’t…I can’t see colors. I’m completely colorblind.”

Just like that, the horizon booms with new things: sad make-believe “magic-lenses” that would permit Jay to escape his monochrome eyes and pursue a rainbow trail. slurs on the wind, silence reigning on Yunho’s slightly-concave lips for now, and Jay immediately knows the all-righteous selfless man  is impugning himself  _again_  for something he had utterly no control over.

“There are you go again, Yunho,” the musician crushes the imaginary lenses under his Gore Tex Boots without a second thought. “You never change. It’s not your fault. You’re still pounding that guilt-attracted fist on your chest, even when you have 0% to do with the problem. You’re really actor material, you know? If I was the God of Acting, I would marry you.”

Even with Jay’s pacing and huffs and one million thoughts and brain in Chaos Land, the silence is quite awkward.  _Well, the first time’s always going to be awkward. It’s not a cliché rule of life, it’s something scientific and pre-ordained. And that’s coming from someone like me._

 _It just has to be like that_ , he huffs extra-harder for this one.

“Starry Cassiope has red cups supporting the smooth white petals,” Yunho tries. it’s the perfect blend of casual and reserved. _So you._ “I know you can see the shades, even if everything is monochrome…maybe-“

“Let’s play this game,” Jay is tapping his fingers on wind, as if he’s playing on piano and strumming a spontaneous rhythm on guitar strings. “And no, it’s not associating colors with emotions. Blekh, I hate that stupid kind of thing.”

“Why so?”  _This is still us. I’m a rampant, impatient wind that knocks everything over. Way too fast, unwilling to slow down for anybody…and then there’s you. It’s like you’re as fast as me, but you hold me steady and surround me._

“Because colors and emotions are subjective. When people tell me they want to kill, I think they want to kill aliens, when they want to kill humans. It’s like that. It’s such a waste to ramble on passionately about a topic when we’re not…quite on the same page, don’t you think? Well, it would be a new, innovative communication method, though. A planned skit that ends up turning into an improv. We pretend we understand each other, even if we’re not speaking the same language. That’s quite thrilling to try, but it won’t be any good.”

Yunho chuckles for a long while before he replies, “I know, Jaejoong-ah. You want to pursue that kind of…innovative communication, as you said. Fool around and have an amazing time. I don’t mind fooling around. You’re talking about music, right? Music and words.”

_And we still speak the same language! I love this, such a thrill._

_And Jaejoong…I still totally love the way you talk._

_“_ Those are similar enough to each other to be on the same ground, but different enough to produce the same resulting after-thought in different mediums. Aha..” Jay is slapping his thighs hard, and Yunho is laughing even harder.

The scenario continues on. it’s one that Jay wants to spiral on forever, but he knows all well that time has to go on.

_Let’s get to business. Not boring business, but serious talk. Well, they’re pretty much the same thing but there’s a significant difference, how can I explain this?_

So Jay settles for a clear, shipshape question. significant clearing of throat to go with it.  _Yunho’s mind will always adapt to anything thrown at him, because he’s that god._

“How much do you remember?”

Jay is debating in his head which part Yunho’s  getting stuck with: understanding what the question demands, or formulating an answer for it.  _I can never decide._

“Nothing, really. I just…love you and that’s it…ah, I know you think it’s stupid.”  _Because the truth happens to be stupid in many instances._

_There are many things in this world that’s stupid: many things, and the world itself. But love isn’t one of them._

“It’s not,” Jay’s answer is as ambiguous and   
unaccepting  
 as the snow, and they both know it.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

“How much of music and singing principles do you remember,” is the question Jay asks the next day -  _stifling_ and  _decisive_ and most of all  _hopeful_. tested with a good ol’ C, and both of them are surprised as Yunho harmonizes with G.

“Pretty much everything comes by feel,” lips half-open like a beautiful curved palm offering flower petals. That’s how Yunho smiles, and it’s like  _he doesn’t even know how…impossible he looks right now. every time, actually._

Jay’s footsteps furrow the snow. the notes of this invisible song are dictated by Yunho’s breathing, and neither can decide if Yunho actually notices. It’s Jay’s favorite method of warmups – moving his jaw up and down while pacing. Yunho next to him, even if  _he’s just literally wind_ , makes it less tedious.

“You always loved perfect fourths more than minor thirds,” Jay adds with a cheeky smile.

“Mm-hmm,” the wind moves closer. easily and relaxed, unlike Jay’s breathing that’s starting to get more and more labored as the clock ticks. Typically, he ignores it and focuses on Yunho’s next sentence instead, “Major fourth sounds really relaxed. I’m…not really a minor third person…to me, it rather sounds…well, sad. But that’s a too simple word for you, hmm? I’m sure you can come up with a more descriptive one-”

“Why did you come to me…now? And like this?” that’s when the wind stills for longer than a bit.  _Dramatic effects are really predictable. Timing is perfect. Hmm, that’s pleasing._

The microsyllables in Yunho’s voice are nothing if not pleated.  _No, I know he’s not lying, but this is really uneasy._  Maybe it’s because Yunho’s reply comes faster than Jay expected,  _or maybe I’m just too deep in thought._

“Knowing you, the idea that I’m a spirit or…some kind of angel has already crossed your mind, hasn’t it?”

There’s something unflappably elastic about Jay’s expression. both could agree it wasn’t a welcoming one.

“Yes, it has. And no,” Jay’s gaze is faraway, somewhere Yunho can’t quite glide to that quickly. “You’re too human to be either.  But let’s say that you are. Let’s be cliché if that can be a model for the actual truth you can’t explain to me-“

“You’re gonna ask what kind of angel am I,” Yunho’s impromptu interruption still comes in beat. It’s certainly  _enough to make me falter._

_Such beautiful mistakes. Such priceless dissonance._

“If I bring luck. Or take away sadness. Or even, protect you from bad spirits.”

Jay ends up swallowing his previous thoughts,  _they’re all wrong and unmatching and unwanted now. Emergency makeover, emergency makeover!!_

“Angel or spirit or human, we’re still going to be friends, aren’t we? Will you crush whatever rules or orders you’re under? I’ll give you better things,” he doesn’t really know why he says that or why the hell this conversation is flowing into uncontrollable ad lib. Internally, he shrugs it off.

It’s a cadenza he’s afraid Yunho won’t catch, though.

“One of those rules,” the wind is blowing some sort of warm sensation around his ears. whets his heart and thoughts, which means his brain, so he wishes it would be the skin-warming kind instead.  _I’m sort of cold right now…_

_That’s the difference between you and I. Rules don’t even exist in my world, yet you live by them._

 “…is that I leave something of mine with you, and you leave something of yours to me,” the sentence is rhythmic but Jay’s not sure if he likes the actual substance of those words.  _It just sounds terribly forced. Unfree._

 _I hate contracts_ , the fervent thought creeps up to him inconveniently. Internally, he blows it away mercilessly.  _I hope lots of spit goes with it._

“..they can be anything, though. As long as they’re precious, meaningful and beautiful things.”

“That’s subjective,” Jay has no choice to snap with his voice, because  _I must conceal this trembling. my chattering teeth. It’s cold, but –_

“I believe, 75% of the time, that humans’ joy and pain would make quintessential full sense to them and only them. It’s because if I tell you that staring at the wall makes me the happiest person in the world, I’d have to give a justification for you to understand. If I was with myself though, there are no justifications needed. Ever.”

A shiver wins out, taking over Jay’s shoulders and possessing it. Slight anger fawns to his heart, more so because  _Yunho is seeing this. This is not part of the plan and even so, this is not a detour I like or one that makes sense._

“And even if I explain, it’s going to be like how energy pyramids work. Say that I explain 100% of why staring at walls makes me happy, you’ll only retain 10% of it. Why? Because that’s how humans would deal with it. You’ll just take the main point. Ah, he likes staring at walls because he likes blank things. You won’t really shower yourself with the feeling of it. the drudge and the drag. the reality, the sheer reality that a second 100% immersed in the moment gives you a fuller picture than a lifetime of someone explaining it to you. The sheer rawness of the whole idea, you know?”

_If I give into this cold, this performance won’t be perfect._

“There’s something you’re mad about,” Yunho tries again.  _Yunho always tries, that’s how we survived. And that’s how he survives me. how he loves me._

 but Jay is powerless to still his shivers.  _Well, that’s why involuntary actions and reflexes exist, after all._ “I understand that I said something off…and I wish you would tell me.”

_Jaejoong-ah…it’s me. Tell this Yunho, hmm?_

The world stops spinning for a while, but the scoring burn ribbing through his finger cells from the insides are just unbearable.  _Monochrome whirling around is not an artistic sensation._

“Just don’t mention rules to me,” Jay doesn’t even have the energy to spit. whatever set his heart and thoughts on fire has gone as quickly as it came, and it’s a sad sort of disappointing.

“I’m not mad at you,” he offers Yunho a smile that’s intended to come with a blush.  _if only the snow wouldn’t ruin my efforts, ugh._ “I’m mad at something else. I’m mad at the concept of rules and contracts and…all that.”

 _I’m sorry for blowing up, Yunho,_ but the wind resumes that warm-sensation tingly thing again and Yunho declares with an undertone so triumphant,  _and this is how compelling your voice actually is:_  “That would be red.”

_What is he talking about?_

“That would be red, Jaejoong. How you’re feeling right now. Blood boiling in your veins. Or, if you’d like, so frozen that it cracks. Anger. Or passion. Intensity. As if your soul is exceeding the moment’s quota for it.”

_Yunho…_

“I know it’s not your favorite color,”  _you’re the only one who can harmonize hesitation and hopefulness into a perfect cocktail,_ “but if you were a color, you would be red. Somehow.”

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The second week of Barrow’s Night Craze dictates more people vacationing to warmer,  _more interesting_ places. Bali, Seoul, or perhaps Maldives. Snow and tears crystallizing into flowers on your cheeks may be romantic. worth writing of or bunching into some part of an improv song, but  _let’s face it, it’s not something you’d want to live through. It’s not just snow. It’s subzero coldness that made you wish  you’ll end up in hell, the kind of hell that meant the fire kind of burning. And that still wouldn’t be enough to console you._

_Tearjerking romanticism is just tons and mountains and heaps of unbearable pain romanticized again and again with pathetic sugar. so much that it’s a sort of discredit to the truth and an insult to the person going through the situation._

_Like caking a face with clown-makeup._

_Writers have a license to trample on people’s feelings._

Jay laughs for a bit when he sees Heech’s face in his head. one eyebrow cocked in disbelief, then a minimum of ten minutes rant about why Jay is being so, well, mean.  
 About the fleeing part though, Jay couldn’t relate as much as he felt he needed to.  _When is a place more interesting than when people are fleeing it like the Black Death broke out?_

_Lots of interesting things left behind, then._

_Well_ , he hums to himself. moves his jaw up and down, the song’s 57th bar already booming crazy but  _right_ in his head.  _Not a wise…life plan though, if you have a dream of trying to live through 190 and break a world record._

_But oh well. A smaller audience tonight would be a nice change._

**_Even when I close my eyes, I can see_  
** Even when I am far away, I know  
How beautiful of a person she is  
I don’t want to let go of her hands  
It feels as if we’ll shatter  
How delicate of a person she is.. 

Sustaining the last note is equivalent to scorching the cold air passing through his lungs – it’s unnecessary, unplanned. exhausting the reservoir needlessly.  
 The kind of  _unnecessary-it’s-making-me-wistful-and-we’re-in-public-so-that-can’t-happen_.

Thankfully, today’s guitarist takes his cue fast and transitions to their more upbeat selection.

**_Well it’s a marvelous night for a moondance_  
** with the stars up above in your eyes   
a fantabulous night to make romance  
‘neath the cover of October skies 

_It’s spiky in a good way_ , Jay closes his eyes and smiles more and more. Their Van Morrison live cover flutes to the guitarist’s soft inserts of lines along  _let me show you, let me show you something new, underneath the moonlight, so beautiful in the moonlight._

Only music could make him feel light enough to float. rib his restless jaw to more subtle movements, condensing the energy to his heart instead. that kind of emancipating, condensed  _life_ that scorches you with rebirth-quality light.

_Even if I ‘d forget who I am, I’d still be floating along the stars. Maybe I’ll be part of a constellation. Or I’ll just form my own, making friends with other stars and forming something intriguing…_

_Something unforgettable._

Before he knows it, he’s splashing water again and again on his face.  _Bathrooms are creepy when you’re alone_ , the thought just compels him to splash more and more. until some tsunami into his nostrils and barbs his eyes.

_Let me show you something new._

_Under the moonlight._

_Barbing my eyes…  
Barbed wire._

_There was a fence….  
What are these?_

_What did I forget?  
No.._

_What am I trying to forget?_

-0-0-0-0-0-

“It’s not even a surprising story anymore for me,” in Heech’s world as of now, his nails are more popular than Jay’s face. “You’re still not over your Dating the Elements phase, you rascal?”

“You don’t have to put it that way. You do worse in your fanfics, you know.” thoughts blank, creditless.  _No tribute to emotion. I’m just tired, that’s all. My head hurts a bit_ , he almost blurts out, but doesn’t.

“Nah. I’ve never had my characters denying the Grand Arrival of Significant Other by convincing themselves that said significant other is just a wind fairy that will come and go. Of all the things to choose from, Jay. Anyways, where is he staying right now?”

“The nearby hotel. He’s looking for interesting stuff to add to his antique collection. And for one, he’s seriously attempting to teach me colors.”

“You look tired, but your heart and chest is producing sooooo much positive energy! I can see if from my screen, you know,” they both find the joke hilarious.

“I asked him to stay over here,” at Jay’s report, Heech releases an all-orgiastic you’ve-become-fanfiction-material smile. flurries included. Then eventual bird-run hands.

Later, the snow skivvies. and when that’s not questionable enough in Barrow Winterfest, raindrops skivvy too as if crash-hugging the snow beds.

_What did I bury deep in my mind?_

_I…could I see colors before that?_

_How did I get this finger disability?_

_Why are my fingers extra-sensitive to the cold?_

_Yunho, would you know of any answers? Ideas? I’m actually into conspiracy theories. I’m convinced mine involves at least one alien and three different kinds of teddy bears. Have I told you why crystallized sugar is a no-no for certain kinds of candy?_

So Jay types, not writes.  _It’s just too painful to physically write these days.  
_  because certain weaknesses could be hidden just if you remember to avoid doing them.  _Substitution. A works as well as B._

**_Gentle blue rockets are raining down from outerspace._  
** What is outerspace, you’d ask.   
Outerspace…you see, it’s not just awesome, distant galaxies  
that you see painted on fashionable shirts   
(I’m not in trend with current fashion as of now, though)  
or comets you pray for happiness to.  
It’s also that abyss inside of you that you just can’t understand.  
Stars maybe flicker at every breath of your own special angel,   
which also flicker when lovers’ fingers are linked together.  
There would be stars everywhere by then.  
Around the hands, inside the hands, the whole world.  
The hands would be made of stars, too.  
That is, you can only enjoy them if you were part of  
its creation. 

“Oh. Hello, Jay,”  _best quality receiver for your best quality voice._ It’s almost hilarious in a precious way, how every note of Yunho’s voice lean towards the happy, major-scale sharps. groove into smiles as easy as they’re sincere.

“You would’ve thought that at this era we’re in, humans would’ve already figured out how to travel at the speed of light,” Jay answers into his phone. “Thing is, we haven’t yet.”

“The way you tell me that you want me to come over is seriously so romantic, aigoo,”  _don’t make me imagine your face right now_ , Jay half-heartedly sends a prayer to who-knows-where. doesn’t really mind if the prayer would prefer to be unanswered.

_I wonder how life like is when you’re a prayer._

“Do you know you’re like peeing poetry?” they both burst into laughter.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Yunho’s face is an unexplainable, almost-hilarious phenomenon.  _Phenomena. trillions of them, actually._

Whenever Jay’s eyes linger on Yunho’s, he’s inexplicably  _alate_. alate in a way he’s never thought possible before. upside-down. zero gravity to ground you. being in a sort of subspace the price for such exhilarated inhale-exhale.

_I am falling in love with you again and again and again like an addict and I still won’t stop even at the 9837583829 th time._

_Beautified nicotine. white wisps of smoke that are more medicine than lung corruption._

Yunho’s beauty is the kind that blurs everything else around it. invisible hands that seemed to have been there all this time. It’s a beauty that soothes and heals and purifies. Not really eliciting or boiling your  _sanity_ to explosion-point –  _no, it’s not that cliché._

Surely, it collides in perfect counterpoints with every ideal and image of beauty Jay has ever dreamt of,  _but this is way more satisfying._

Their voices layering each other’s during SHE is anoesis incarnate.  _The sinful kind._

_Anoesis._

_Anoesis, my fantasy drug._

_Anoesis._

Yunho is thrumming  bass and velvety harmony in one, eliciting illegal smoothness in Jay’s own voice. The sensation is nothing short of Yunho’s beautiful fingertips running through Jay’s collarbone.

_Anoesis._

Jay’s voice quivers into unexplainable vibratos. vibratos he’s never ever thought himself capable of producing: it’s raw and refined coexisting, defying the laws of music.

_Gentle rockets rain down  
Anoesis is the scariest and most thrilling outerspace_

“What’s wrong?” but Yunho already knows that Jay is still getting used to the concept of anoesis. that tears that glisten and enthrall you the way Swarovski crystals do are nothing, if not tears of joy.

“Even your tears are disoriented, aigoo,” Jay has no choice but to close his eyes to the sensation of Yunho thumbing off his tears.  _It just…goes together. like aliens and their spaceships._

“Looks at them bursting forth from every direction possible!”

“To be honest, I was waiting for a new direction to be named,” huddling to Yunho is mandatory. primal. Survival-priority. “We should have a different set of directions when we’re upside down, for instance.”

“I wonder how bears navigate,” Yunho’s warmth is more encompassing, more possessing than an explicit romance novel.

“Did I ever tell you that your small face is cute? It looks like an alien!” but still, Yunho does anything but fall for this.  _It’s really you._

“Jay,” every syllable Yunho utters is tender, even through the grooves of urgency and worry. “This…SHE…it’s really meaningful to you…isn’t it? Is it a song about a special person?” the night sky saddens to black for some reason Jay couldn’t pinpoint.  _Maybe Yunho and I will transform to white-hot stars any moment now. If we go out and show off our light, a dark background would be the perfect match._

As if watercolor spreading through the canvas in its vibrant glory, the power in Yunho’s words are aggregating. “Ah, you’re thinking about stars right now, aren’t you?”

“Sneaky,” Jay feigns, “How did you know?”

“Maybe that’s why we were torn apart back then. Maybe that’s why we had to keep most of our love to ourselves. Because it would sear our surroundings. The rest of the world.” Jay detects a ghost of regret and guilt, but it’s nevertheless  a sure, striking statement.  _one meant to protect…to nurture…to watch over_ …

“Don’t you think it’s beautiful, how our identities are carried over even if we’re reborn versions? I wonder who’s the original-original though.” He tries to calm the rippling excitement. ecstasy.  sheer feeling of  _I’m at the right place right now with the right person and I don’t care if I’m in Barrow freezing away, tucking yourself in a fortress of blankets isn’t the only way to feel warm._

 Yunho looks calm, as if he’s floating away but Jay wants to jump up and down.  _I can declare that Jung Yunho is here. And there’s nothing to stop us this time._

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Jay’s twinkling eyes give away his suppressed half-smile, “I actually feel sorry for the souls we’ve chased out. Us stealing their bodies, you know? We’ve taken away their chance for their own identity. I do wonder if one day, all of a sudden they just decide to take their space back, you know? And we’ll just…vanish. Just stop existing like that.”

“You’re speaking my mind,” Yunho’s gentle hold on Jay’s hand is surely aiming to  _keep us both here. even if it’s just for now._

“Meeting you again like this…and singing SHE with you again…like this…I’d be happy if we-“

“Die now?” a nascent frown is being held back. Yunho is a master of self-control, but  _I have never ever fallen for it, not even once._

“Don’t say things like that,” Jay hushes him with his unique opia.  _Ah. In a second, you’re gonna tell me how my gigantic doe eyes trap you in an almost-troublesome gaze._ “We don’t know what death is like. It might be just floating away then becoming a star. Or being a part of a constellation. We’d communicate telepathically, I bet.”

“Aish,” Yunho ruffles Jay’s windswept hair. returns the striking thought with an equally striking smile. “You still haven’t told me. I’m guessing though that this was a song that was written for us before. But we weren’t allowed to sing it…because-“

Jay decides to gently shove him.  _Not going to start that lifelong argument and war right now. Even back then, it was overly opened and exhausted to the point that it decided to quit its toxic job and retire to the stars. Of course, it’s happier there._

“The Internet exists for a reason. Read up,” he practically jostles his laptop to Yunho’s face. “All videos, articles, tracks, news reports…they’re all there. Take your time, I’m going to get some sleep.”

“Ah, isn’t it rude to leave your guest like this,” Yunho teases with his easy smile. but when he turns to the side, Jay’s already out cold.


End file.
